Feral
by Glow Star Stickers
Summary: With the past behind them, Jack and Pitch can no longer deny that they possess something more ... intimate ... between them. This is what they feel, this is what ends their fear, this is how it all comes out: With feral love.


A/N: I was bored so I wrote this. Yeah...

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Feral

His were the eyes of a predator. Eclipse-like irises that glared with envy and nefarious taboo desires which plagued his every thought, his every whimsical and throbbing need. Gold clipped hallows whittled away that damn cocky barrier Jack was able to always hold up so proudly. White pearly teeth were barred as claw-like hands curled up into themselves so they shook as he held back the enraged bursts of flame inside him. Even now he was able to glare down upon the pale white haired figure below him. Glaring down as the Winter Spirit slept under the spell of his rival's golden sands. Vulnerable, smiling, eternal.

He hated it. He loathed the spirit for it. He seethed in bitter fury for it. He cursed the young guardian for bringing these heart wrenching emotions down onto him. He blamed him for making him feel weak, making him feel fear, for making his heart _beat_. The Nightmare King rued the very day he ever dared lay his eyes upon the man known as Jack Frost! 'Curse him! Curse me! Curse the world I had once known to believe and worship me!'

'But most of all: curse the Man in the Moon and his sadistic ways.'

The tall broken figure loomed above Jack. A hollow sharp grey face leaning down to come closer to inspect the source of all his pain. A soft hand came up to lovingly touch a cold cheek. A face that was forever encased in the warmth of stale frost. A face whose veins pumped, not blood, but icy pillars of fire. Curse Jack and his handsome smirking face. Curse Frost and his fun loving ways. Curse him, curse him, curse him.

The warmth of a soft hand woke the Guardian of Fun, making him shift uncomfortably at the feeling of a foreign kind of heat. A heat he had learned to forget with the memories he chose to leave behind. He felt it.

As consciousness claimed him, Jack's eye lids softly fluttered open to the shadows of darkness and a familiar enemy's face. And as first reactions usually end to be, Jack jerked and arched his back in an attempt to run away. But the bindings of warm obsidian sands had slithered under his sheets and captured his limbs in their strong nonexistent hands. And as the impending tremors of a scream started to work up through a suddenly very hot and dry throat, the damp and heavy weight of lips on his own turned Jack silent. Fists unclenched, guards fell down, lungs sarted to relax, and, as much as Jack refused and denied it, he was damned to give in once the soft feeling of thin lips met his. Jack, just like the man dominating and controlling his every action, cursed Pitch as much as Pitch cursed Jack. Dear Lord, have mercy on his soul, but he was plagued forever and always by the man he knew as Pitch Black. There was the loathing, there was the denial, there was the understanding, and then there was the invisible bond which struck them both as sinners in the words of the Bible and in the words of the world they lived.

Jack loved to hate him.

And Pitch loved to loath it.

The feeling was no longer mutual, it was feral.

Sauvage. Ágrios. Ferino. Maestus. Dikiy. Salvaje. Gwyllt. What ever language, what ever history, and what ever ties that are melded to it; it was the same. Feral were they as both emotions and screamed words broke open and slowly spilled over like the sweet golden liquid known as honey. A night of passion, a night of hate, and a night of love. Ice was melted and fire was doused. Skin touched skin as the friction became an unbearable sort. It was a torture much deserved, a course which had longed to be taken. There was no gentleness in their touches and their words. There was no motherly love in the thrusts given and the thrusts taken. Cries of agonizingly sweet pleasure singed the walls like the shadows that filled the room, grunts of held in pleasures rumbled through a torn scarred chest that was flush against an icy violet one. Breaths mingled, eyes locked, lips embraced, and tongues tangled. There was no going back, there was no words no longer left unspoken. Both Jack and Pitch had unraveled the bars that encaged them both back for nearly over a hundred years now. With pasts behind them and nothing left to lose.

Both Spirits of Snow and Darkness had finally found euphoria. A piece of Heaven never to come. Red ribbons of silk clothed both their bodies as movements ended and their release had been done. Jack was left panting with the light of white blinding his vision. Left to fall back into the arms of sleep, just as his new lover held him in his own. Cursed were they. Loving were them. And feral will their love always be.


End file.
